


That One Time Natasha Had Feelings (and kind of fucked it up)

by SiriuslyDontBlink



Series: Not Quite Classified Files of SHIELD's Emotionally Stunted Superheroes [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Things are gonna wrap up eventually, This is gonna be a series, dysfunctional everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriuslyDontBlink/pseuds/SiriuslyDontBlink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are, both of them, chronically bad at feelings. They yell, or they seethe. They break things and shoot things and run until they can’t breathe. Sometimes they fuck. </p><p>Clint says SHIELD only hires people if they’re emotionally stunted. </p><p>Natasha maintains that she doesn’t have feelings. </p><p>Coulson mostly just tries to get them to take more than two days off between missions, but Clint doesn’t sleep and Natasha stares holes in the walls, so he puts them back in the field, gives them purpose, and it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Time Natasha Had Feelings (and kind of fucked it up)

Natasha lay on her side, curled up, her bare back pressed to Clint's chest with his arms around her. Warm. Still. Neither of them were asleep, but it was a comfortable silence, born of many missions side by side and many nights spent in each other's quiet company. She flexed her fingers and stared at her hands absently.

They are, both of them, chronically bad at feelings. They yell, or they seethe. They break things and shoot things and run until they can’t breathe. Sometimes they fuck. 

Clint says SHIELD only hires people if they’re emotionally stunted. 

Natasha maintains that she doesn’t have feelings. 

Coulson mostly just tries to get them to take more than two days off between missions, but Clint doesn’t sleep and Natasha stares holes in the walls, so he puts them back in the field, gives them purpose, and it works. 

“Clint,” she says softly. Her fingers curl and manicured nails scrape against her palm. The mission is over, and they’re in the safe house, but it’ll be another day until they’re picked up. 

Clint makes a noise against her shoulder, a mumbled acknowledgement, but it doesn’t fool her. He’s been awake for twenty minutes; she could feel his breath. 

“I don’t think we should do this any more,” she says. She hadn’t appreciated the blunt force of it until now, and maybe that hadn’t been the best way to go about it. But it was done. 

Clint’s breath stills against her neck for a brief moment, and Natasha suppresses a shiver, lays absolutely still. She calms her heartbeat and doesn’t give him anything. He was doing the same. She could hear it in his voice. They were both very good at shutting off before they were hurt. “That’s a really ambiguous statement, Natasha.” 

“Clint.” 

“If you’re talking about the fact that neither of us wears socks to bed, I definitely think we need to stop that. Your toes are _icicles._ ”  

Natasha sighs, and it was more felt than heard. Clint’s arms still around her, pressing against her chest, heavy. “Clint.” 

“You think we should stop sleeping together.” She felt the pad of his thumb trace the line of her rib, callused hands and smooth skin.

“Yes.” 

“Is someone threatening you?” he asks. “I’ll beat ‘em up.”  

Funny how that question turns into a routine. “No one’s threatening me, Clint.”  

“Then what is this?” 

“We’re bad for each other. This can’t work.” 

 His voice turns exasperated and his arms loosen around her. “Jesus Christ, Tasha, don’t do this.” 

“I’m not d —”

“I know what this is.” He lets go of her and he sits up, staring down at her with a look that Natasha can’t identify, but it constricts her chest, makes something bubble up inside her . She turns it into anger, into something she can identify, something less volatile than the unnamed feeling churning in her stomach. She sits up and pulls the blanket around her chest. “I know _you._ You’re getting comfortable, and you’re getting scared, because you don’t do comfort, or people. You’re all choking people with your thighs and scary eyes and you have ten ways you could kill me right now, but you know what? That’s bullshit.” 

 “Are you going to tell me how I work now, Barton? Because I’d really like for you to tell me what’s going on in my head.”  He had, actually, hit a little too close to home for Natasha to admit. She wasn’t _scared_ , but the way that he snuck more and more of her trust as time went on, the way that she didn’t mind him coming up silently behind her, or waking up in his arms. The way that she knew she would compromise for him. If it was him or their objective, it was him, every time. And that was dangerous. 

He visibly deflates at her tone. Looks away and rubs his eyes. “All right, _you_ tell me what this is, then. No bullshit.” 

“You’re bad for me.” And, shit, no, she hadn’t meant that how it came across. She regretted it the instant she felt him tense up. But Clint made her talk, often without thinking, and it spilled out, because _god damn it_ he made her breathe too fast and what was she supposed to do with that? 

“I’m bad for you.” 

Natasha tried explaining it from a different angle. “You’re my weak spot.” 

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” 

Damn it, Barton. It made sense in her head, but it wouldn’t to him. “That’s not —”

“It’s all right.” He shifted out of bed and stood, rummaging through his luggage and pulling a pair of sweat pants on. “I’m going for a run.” 

Natasha didn’t say anything as he stood up and tucked a gun away. Didn’t tell him to be careful, even though she wanted to. She didn’t apologize. 

Clint came back while Natasha was in the shower. She listened to his footsteps move around the small house, and then he opened the door to the bathroom, because he was Clint, and personal boundaries were long past. 

She tilted her head back into the hot water and listened to him. He leaned against the counter; she could hear him breathing. The silence settled around them and she didn’t want to break it, but she could feel the tension in Clint, even though she couldn’t see him. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she said. 

A huff of breath. “I’m bad for you in a good way?” 

“Yes,” Natasha said. Because, yes. 

The steam clouded around her and fogged her vision. She exhaled through her teeth, blowing the air. 

“You’re not my weak spot, Natasha.” 

“Yeah.” Her lips pressed together in a motion that hinted at a smile, before fading at the edges. “I’m not you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Yeah. This is a thing. There's gonna be more of this thing, because I like these dysfunctional assassins. So.
> 
> Leave a review because they're literally my crack.


End file.
